


Feeling Empty, Aren't We?

by IShipMyFriendsSometimes



Series: Wait, They're Jewish? [1]
Category: DCU, Harley Quinn (Cartoon 2019), Harley Quinn (Comics), Justice League - All Media Types, Suicide Squad (2016), Suicide Squad (Comics)
Genre: Canon Jewish Character, Descent into Madness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Harley Quinn origin story reimagined, Harley goes mad lol, Healing, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Joker is so nasty I literally hate him, Not for the faint of heart, Origin Story, Yom Kippur | Atonement Day
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:46:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26950873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IShipMyFriendsSometimes/pseuds/IShipMyFriendsSometimes
Summary: Harleen "Harley" Quinzel, is your normal Jewish girl from New York. She's grown up and become a doctor, helps people with mental health, and everything is fine. But, she wonders if her own mental state isn't off. She's always felt like something's missing, something she can't quite put her finger on. It's scaring her.//Also known as the one where a nice jewish girl writes a not so nice jewish girl with the purpose of getting endgame harlivy.A reimagining of the Harley Quinn origin if you will.
Relationships: Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel
Series: Wait, They're Jewish? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1966684
Comments: 13
Kudos: 36





	1. Atonement Day

**Author's Note:**

> Ok! So! I've had this idea in my head since... Yesterday? Ish?
> 
> So I was watching the new Harley Quinn, and I've known that Harley has been Jewish pretty much since the beginning. Harleen Quinzel.
> 
> As someone who is Jewish, the show just wasn't it for me. Maybe because they attempted to put her in an oven. Yes, an oven!!
> 
> I'm not easily offended, but watching a show where they try and put a Jewish person in an oven, you gotta wonder what went through their head.
> 
> This fic revolves around Harley's varying states of religioness and the fact that these holidays re-occur once every year. So they're important centralizing pieces to the story.
> 
> I couldn't find an actual origin story that matched up. They all seemed to have this problem of conflicting narratives. So, I took what I could, (psychiatrist harley turning insane), and then made the rest up. I hope you like it!
> 
> If you have any questions relating to the Judaism of Harley, there are no wrong questions, so feel free to ask. It's been a lot of fun writing about her, and this has definitely been an adventure so far.
> 
> Without further ado, here's the story!

Today marks an important day in the Jewish Calendar, and still an important one in the regular calendar.

Today is Yom Kippur, or as Christians understand it, the Day of Atonement. Harleen's mom has always been adamant they celebrate it, and her father as well, even though they haven't quite been the best parents.

She's closer with her father than her mother, but still, she loves them both. Her mother always pushed her to try her hardest in school. As a Jewish mother from New York, she was very adamant about her daughter being successful.

Harley often wonders if it's just a Jewish mother thing. Caring about your kid to the point where you don't care if you're a Karen. Still, if she was a mom she would want her child to be successful as well.

Either way, her parents aren't the worst parents. They love her very much and she loves them. Even if they have disagreements or different ideas.

She had moved out to New Jersey last year, so this is her first Yom Kippur by herself.

Her first Yom Kippur by herself.

She's not sure what she should do for it. Well, besides the usual. As a psychiatrist, she takes the day off from her patients. It's a holiday after all.

Rosh Hashanah was ten days ago, so her superiors were adamant she not take this one off. Some people liked to pretend Jews didn't exist and sweep them under the rug, is all.

She's sort of religious, even if she constantly debates g-d's existence in her head. She's not exactly sure how to approach religion if not with the same careful methodical approach as her patients.

No matter how religious she is, Yom Kippur is always important. It's for atoning for sins and making sure your name is written in the book of life. One of, if not the most important holiday of the Jewish year.

As much as Harley is agnostic about the existence of a g-d, she does this tradition as something she has always done.

Last night was when she had her last meal for the day. Sunset is when all Jewish holidays start, and they end at sunsets as well.

She steps out of her car and walks up to the synagogue, quietly nodding to the other people as she takes her seat. She stays silent as the Rabbis go through the blessings, hunger growing at her stomach.

Harley tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and turns the siddur to the right page. She furrows her eyebrows and wonders who she wronged this year. The blonde isn't sure that she even has, but everyone's a critic. Her personality just didn't click with some people.

The woman absentmindedly turns the page as the prayers continue, wondering if she really is a good person. She's helped numerous people recover from trauma and hurt. Some people had years of hurt that she treated. She solved many problems, a few marriages, and helped lots of mental health.

Still, she doesn't quite feel content.

It doesn't feel like her. Something about her isn't something she's content with. But Harley can't quite put her finger on what.

She doesn't feel complete. Doesn't feel whole.

As the rabbi continues to pray and the other people continue to him along, she feels alone. She feels empty.

It's a weird feeling, being empty but unsure of what you're missing. It's like being sad about something that was never there.

Only, you're not sure what that empty feeling means. You're not sure what you're sad about, only that you are sad.

Wow, the lack of food is getting to her.

Harley gives a small smile when she checks her watch. It's only three, and the sun sets at six-thirty. She's got three and a half more hours to fast.

It's not long, but without eating it feels like longer. She's been fasting since last night, obviously. Since that's when the holiday began.

She taps her foot nervously and attempts to pray a little. She hums along to a few of the songs, but her mind is elsewhere.

After fifteen more minutes, she decides to go. She's not sure where, just out of the synagogue. Somewhere quieter.

Not that quieter has ever helped with the fast.

Harley winds up on her black sofa that she had bought years earlier in a yard sale. It had rips and tears, but had been with her for quite a few years now.

She throws a blanket over her legs and turns on some mindless TV. 

Her stomach growls, but she ignores it. Is she generally a terrible person? Has she done something to piss people off recently? Or, maybe, she's just an asshole. Honestly, not surprising if that's the case.

These thoughts always come easy on a day like today. She shakes her head, dispelling these thoughts.

She focuses on the crappy show, something about how the lead cheated on her husband. If you asked her, these people all had acute to severe BPD and Bipolar Disorder. Then again, it's just a show.

Sometimes turning her therapy brain off was difficult.

Harley just kind of wants to watch dumb people be stupid and turn her brain off. It's not always that easy, unfortunately.

She ends up falling asleep to a rerun of friends.

* * *

A few hours later, she wakes up. She blearily reaches for the remote, her stomach empty.

After turning off the television, she reaches for her phone before realizing she was wearing a watch. Oh yeah.

It's seven o' two, so she should be breaking the fast. Then she should sleep, she's getting some new patients at Arkham tomorrow.

Since she works there now, and the shift starts nice and early, at five A.M.

Harley stands up and enters the kitchen, pulling a piece of bread off the counter. She didn't end up buying challah this year, not having the energy to hunt around the grocery store. So white bread it is.

She quickly says the prayer for eating bread and eats the slice. She's pretty hungry, and ends up gobbling down two more slices.

The blonde puts the bread down and turns to the fridge. She doesn't actually feel like cooking, so she ends up closing the fridge and ordering pizza.

Armed with a pizza, she sits at the kitchen table. If only she had someone to share today with.

Speaking of someone, she should probably call her parents.

...after pizza.

Harley munches her way through a slice while scrolling on her phone to play music. She's never liked eating alone. Or being alone in general.

She listens to a few songs as she eats pizza to fill her empty stomach. She feels warm and sated by the time she finishes over half the pizza.

An hour has passed, and she probably should call her parents before it's too late.

“Hello?” 

“Hi mom,” Harley grimaces. “How did your fast go?”

“It went well. Your father and I went to a sushi restaurant to break it,” Her mom replies. “How was yours?”

“...it went well,” Harley says, thoughtfully. Nevermind the fact that she isn't sure if she felt anything or not. “I ordered pizza to break it.”

“That's good,” Her mom smiles through the phone. “Your father says hi and that I need to leave you alone because you have work tomorrow.”

“Tell him I said hi too. Yeah, I do have work tomorrow. Bye mom, bye dad, love you.”

“Love you too sweetie.”

Harley hangs up, the apartment feeling emptier than ever.

She's not sure how she feels about this.

She changes for bed and lays awake for a bit, tossing and turning. It's not very restful, but eventually she gets her sleep.

* * *

Harley wakes up that morning and takes a shower to get ready for work. She takes the time to straighten her curly hair, which her mother always commented on.

“Honey, what'd you do to your curls?” She'd always ask.

Harley would always reply, “They're not professional, mom.”

Harley puts on her glasses and ties her hair up into a neat and orderly bun. She puts on neat and clean clothes, placing her white coat over them.

There's Dr. Quinzel.

She stands up straighter and makes her way to her car to drive to work.

On her way, she has an apple for breakfast. It's not much, but she can't really stand eating in the mornings.

She makes it to her shift five minutes early and ends up sitting on the other side of a cell from Two Face.

“So, is there anything you would like to tell me?” She asks, a pleasant smile on her face.

“I don't have anything to tell you. It's not my fate to tell you anything, or maybe it is,” He answers vaguely, flipping his coin.

Harley checks her chart. 

Two-Face's obsession with chance and fate is the result of schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and dissociative identity disorder. He obsessively makes all important decisions by flipping his former lucky charm, a two-headed coin which was damaged on one side by the acid as well.

Well, that makes a lot of sense. He's got many identity issues that they can try and work through.

“I got heads, so I'll tell you what's been bothering me,” He says, and they begin a therapy session.

Harley talks him through a bit of his identity crisis, knowing there is a hell of a long way to recovery. He seems dreamlike, with no idea what's real and what's not, a common symptom of schizophrenia.

She finishes up with him, giving him some exercises to do for "homework" to help keep his brain focused on things.

Hopefully he starts to see some changes too.

Next on her roster, she sees the Joker. She's never had him before, so they'll have to establish a base point and some trust before he tells her anything. It's common for supervillains to not trust in their therapists immediately, it even at all.

Harley makes her way down the hallway, heading towards his cell.

He's in a shielded case with holes in it. He has all the normal prison stuff inside, but instead of bars, it's a plexiglass window.

Harley pulls up a chair and waves to the green haired man. He offers her a wide grin, and she categorizes that as insanity instead of happiness.

“Hello,” She greets, smiling politely. “I'm Doctor Quinzel. Is there anything on your mind today?”

“Nice to meet you, pudding,” The Joker smiles. “I'm the Joker. But you can just call me Mr. J.”

“Alright, Mr. J, is there anything you would like to tell me this morning?”

The Joker begins to laugh, and Harley raises her eyebrows.

“What seems to be so funny?” She asks, puzzled.

The Joker slowly calms down, wiping tears out of his eyes, “Darlin', you are. You are one silly girl.”

“I am an adult, Mr. J. I am twenty eight and pay my own taxes.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Joker waves her off. “My mind is too tormented and twisted for you to understand, Ms. Quinzel. It's like this enigma, this monster. Everytime you think you've uncovered the darkest secret, you'll find plenty more beneath it.”

He giggles madly, “And, it's constantly twisting and changing. Soooo, you could explore it if you want…”

He leans in, close to the holes in the plexiglass and closer to Harley's face.

“But prepare to get lost in it, darling.” He whispers, a wide grin cracking his face and his eyes wild with insanity.

“...I'll take my chances,” She deadpans, her expression neutral.

“Oh?” Joker smirks, his red lips turning up eerily. “No reaction yet? Don't worry. I'll break you soon enough.”

“Break me?” She asks. “You have a method for this kind of thing?”

The Joker laughs, and Harley wonders if any previous therapist has written maniacal laughter as a symptom. It could be some kind of mood disorder, but then that wouldn't explain his thought process…

“You think I use a method?” Joker replies. “You really are adorable, Q.”

“Alright,” She ignores him and looks at questions she should be asking. “Have you had any recent problems controlling anger, lust, temptations, anything like that?”

“You think I, the Joker, control myself?” He shakes his head, grin too wide. “I do what I want. If I want something, I take it. If I feel like something I do it. It doesn't matter what other people think, because I don't care.”

“So you're a psychopath. Also exerting sociopathic tendencies…” She taps the pen on her lips and writes down some notes on him.

“You know, you're not as boring as every other nurse,” The Joker tries.

“Oh?” Harley looks up, meeting those maniac red eyes. “How so?”

“You're special,” He open-mouth grins, showcasing sharp teeth. “Very special…”

“Thank you,” She nods. “I am only here to help you after all.”

“And I could help you so much more,” Joker answers, placing his hand on the plexiglass.

Harley smiles gently.

“We'll help each other, okay? Take care now, I'll be back tomorrow to talk about whatever you may feel like.”

“Whatever I may feel like?” His face gains back that twisted grin that gives her chills.

“Yes,” She nods. “We will talk through whatever it may be.”

He cackles once again, and she leaves him alone in his cell.

Someone with that much anguish and pain… someone with that much madness… she's not sure if she can help them.

Maybe she's being pessimistic, but she has a bad feeling that he'll drag into something that she can't get out of. She's not even sure if she wants to avoid it.


	2. Thoughts are Nightmares

The next time Harley sees Joker, he perks up and starts to ramble about his type in celebrities. He's partial to blonde girls that bear an uncanny resemblance to… her.

She doesn't know whether to be flattered or creeped out, so she winds up opting for both.

“Margot Robbie is especially attractive. What I wouldn't do to get my hands on her!” Joker giggles, and Harley frowns, writing some things down.

He definitely has lots of psychotic tendencies, and she's sort of losing hope on fixing him. She's normally optimistic, but he's a nutcase if she's ever seen one.

“Have you ever abused women in the past?” She asks on a limb. She silently wonders if he's an abusive type.

“Why, goodness no!” He gasps like he's offended, “I have never hurt a woman! Well, there was the one with the fear gas, and the other one with the acid– but I've never hurt one I was in a relationship with because I wasn't in a relationship!” He cackles hysterically, like he's the funniest guy on earth.

“You've not been in a steady relationship?” Harley asks, tapping her pen on her clipboard, a nervous habit.

“Never,” Joker pouts. “I've never been in a steady relationship.”

She nods, waiting for him to continue.

_ “But,” _ He continues, thoughtfully. “I have had plenty of lovers. Not all of them can survive in the villain life, unfortunately...”

Harley grimaces, taking a step back. She doesn't like that tone, it leaves a bad taste in her mouth.

“Interesting…” She replies, acting like she's not completely terrified.

“What about you, Ms. Quinzel?” The Joker tilts his head, ghastly red lips dropping open in curiosity.

“How did your relationships go?”

Harley thinks back on the singular ex boyfriend she's had. She's never been that popular or focused on relationships, but she hasn't had much luck.

“They went well. I've had plenty of relationships in the past, but this isn't about me. This is about you, Mr. J,” She lies. The last and only boyfriend she had left her for another woman. He said she was too boring and too normal.

It hurt her in ways she didn't know she could be hurt. Soon after that, her cat passed away.

So she had been officially alone for a few months now.

“Okay, okay,” He settles, sighing dramatically and dropping onto his prison cot. “Batsy always seems to ruin my fun with crime. I like to steal and kill, and frankly do whatever I like. But he always swoops in and sends me right back here.”

“Do you sometimes think about recovering?” Harley asks, though she's sure she already knows the answer.

“Recovering?” He blinks a few times, looking self satisfied. “Never. I'm already my best self. Especially since I dropped into the toxic vat and went insane.”

“I used to feel the old me, crawling in my head, wanting to survive,” He tilts his head as if listening to an unseen person. “But I killed him. I crushed his skull between my hands like the ant he was.”

Harley tries not to shiver as she sees the goosebumps on her arms. He's seriously scaring her, but this is her job. She will not lose.

“So you killed him,” She notes, nodding. “Would you like to talk about what possessed you to do so?”

Joker nods, draping a hand on his forehead dramatically. “He was so annoying, always telling me what was right and what was wrong. So, I got rid of him. Now, I'm better than ever.”

Harley raises her brows and nods. “Alright, that makes sense…” She notes some more things on her patient chart, trying to formulate a plan.

“Do you ever feel empty?” Joker asks suddenly, a hand going through his green hair. “Like there's something missing you can't quite place your finger on?”

Harley feels something in her stomach drop. Because  _ yes, she has. _

“Care to elaborate on that?” She asks, and he grins his twisted smile.

“You're sad, you feel… empty. Yet, unsure of what you seem to be missing. It feels like there's a piece that  _ should _ be there, but it isn't,” The Joker says seriously, his red eyes blown wide and searching.

Harley meets his red ones with her own blue ones.

“And you have no idea what that piece should be, only that it isn't there,” She finishes for him, and they meet each other's eyes.

Blue eyes get lost in red, she's drowning in them. There's no one to save her, from the madness that lurks in the deep pools like a shark in the ocean.

She stands up slowly, not breaking his gaze.

“I need to go check on other patients now, but I think we've had a real breakthrough today.”

“I concur, Ms. Quinzel,” The Joker smiles at her, and it feels more genuine than any of the previous ones.

The blonde exits the area, her mind awhirl. She relates with a criminal of all people? A madman?

...hopefully this can help her make a breakthrough on his recovery.

* * *

Harley drives home that day, entering her house. She does have a day off tomorrow, since she's working the night shift, so maybe she should go out.

Destress.

Relax.

Stop thinking about the Joker.

He's been occupying her thoughts, on how they seemed to relate, and they seemed to have that moment of understanding. Maybe she can do it. Maybe she can save him.

Those thoughts are playing on loop and she's unable to get out of it. It's like a radio station the plays the same song. It goes away for a bit, coming back into relevance.

Intensely, suddenly.

Always there, lurking in the back for your mind… like a leech.

Harley blinks away those thoughts. She has better things to do. Like get drunk and ignore her wacky thoughts.

Drinking alone is dangerous… she bites her lip, debating going to a quiet bar scene. Just somewhere to take her mind off of things.

Maybe chat with some attractive people…

She parks the car and enters the apartment, her mind made up.

Harley lets her hair down, letting it do whatever waviness it can. She huffs, not liking the feel of it, and pulls it back into a loose bun.

She thinks about how much she doesn't like the feel of her hair on her neck. It's gross and makes her feel unorganized. It looks unprofessional.

Especially pigtails.

The blonde digs through her closet, settling on a modest but still cute dress. It's white, the color of purity and innocence.

She wears white a lot now that she thinks about it.

Harley slides the dress on and puts back on the same heels she wore to work today. She's not trying to look especially nice, just enough so that she doesn't look like she just got off a shift at Arkham asylum.

She checks herself in the mirror and takes off her glasses, looking at herself critically.

She thinks that she looks okay, well, enough so that she doesn't look like she was at a shift. It's not great...

But whatever, it's not like she's getting married.

* * *

Harley arrives at the bar soon enough. Her appearance is neat, and she smooths her dress down. She ends up sitting down at a high top, very close to the bar.

“What can I get ya?” The bartender asks, and Harley thinks for a moment.

“Would you mind coming back?” She asks, and the bartender nods.

“No problem,” He replies, heading off to serve some others.

She sees a familiar posture and hairstyle from across the room. The grin is certainly familiar, but it's lacking colors.

…Joker?

He's still in Arkham…?

She blinks and the man is normal. Maybe she's just seeing things. He did get under her skin earlier when he talked about his relationships, and she hasn't been in one for quite awhile. 

She's probably just lonely. Talking to a creep definitely added to her paranoia.

Harley shakes her head and looks at the menu again, resolving to order a normal rum and coke. She places the menu down, scanning the quiet bar scene.

No one here even remotely looks like Joker. She's probably just paranoid. Drinking may not even be the best idea. Not while paranoid.

* * *

Harley doesn't remember a lot of what happens, but what she does know is that she drinks a lot. Two shots, three beers, and a rum and coke.

She remembers meeting someone named Tyler, kissing someone else named Katherine, and the rest is a blur. Body shots, going to someone's apartment, and it feels like college all over again. She's not sure she wanted this.

Waking up in someone else's bed, she's honestly not surprised to find at least three other people in it. She's wrapped in a comforter, touching someone else, and she's not having it any more.

Harley slides out of the bed, careful not to wake anyone.

She honestly should have done something more productive, like practiced her gymnastics that she hasn't touched since she graduated college. It had been her outlet for stress for a long time.

But no. She has to make rash decisions.

Sometimes she wishes she could afford to make rash decisions.

Harley grabs what clothes she can off the floor and places them back on. She grabs her heels and runs to the door, exiting quickly. She's so not dealing with this.

At all.

So, with the purpose of not thinking, she flees to her house and changes clothes once again.

This time she does change into clothing that she's able to do gymnastics in. That way she can deal with her stress in a better way.

She winds up at a nearby gym, able to get in for a small fee of $25. Not bad, for a fully equipped workout gym.

Harley places her stuff in her locker, pulling on fingerless gloves. Though gymnasts didn't typically wear those, she had lost all of her previous callouses.

If she wanted to swing on the bars, she'd cut her fingers up. So she needed to wear the gloves.

Harley ties her hair up in a high ponytail and sucks in a breath, taking stock of the equipment. She can do this.

She vaults over a cheese mat and dive rolls, standing up afterwards. Okay, so she can do that. What else does she remember?

The blonde looks at her hands before looking up at the floor in front of her. Front handspring.

She's going to do a front handspring.

Harley runs and hurdles into one, pulling it off surprisingly. It's not as easy as it used to be, but she tries again and again, until she's winded.

* * *

She ends up going home eventually, getting ready for bed. All the distractions last night and today were to distract her mind. Her thoughts.

Because if one thing got Harleen Quinzel down, it's thinking.

About life, people, loneliness, death, seriousness. The one thing she feels like she never learned, is who she is. She's not sure of anything, and it scares her. She's always had big grades, and has always been highly intelligent.

But, laying in the soft white cotton sheets of her bed, she feels stupid.

Lost.

Upset.

Lonely.

She's never been good at making friends, so loneliness is a constant companion.

She has the night shift today, so she made sure to pull down the black out curtains. Unfortunately, that also leaves her alone with her thoughts.

Thoughts she isn't quite sure she should be paying attention to.

Her singular focus on the Joker. Her paranoia. Relating to him. Relating to a monster.

As much as he scares her, she's intrigued. Entrapped. Like a fly stuck in amber, she's not sure she'll ever come back out.

It's not like she's in love with him or anything that extreme, but they relate. That should scare her more than anything in the world. That she relates to a sociopathic psychopath.

But it doesn't.

It really doesn't.

  
  



	3. Falling, Falling, Falling

When Harley wakes up, it's 6 P.M.

She's on the night shift today, so that's an interesting change. She blinks blearily, running her eyes and she shoves her hair out of her face. She pads to the bathroom, still waking up.

Harley turns on the water and takes a cold shower to wake herself up more. When she exits the shower, she gets a look of herself in the mirror. Her normal wavy blonde hair is wet and dripping, framing her face. She meets her own eyes in the mirror, and realizes something.

She looks absolutely miserable.

Black circles hang on her eyes, like bruises that don't go away. Her blue eyes themselves look saddened, her gaze hollow. Goosebumps cover her skin from the shower, and she shivers.

She really needs to get dressed. Exiting the bathroom, she makes her way to the chair, where she laid out her clothing the night before. She drives herself off with the towel, taking care to get the water off. Then, she slides on her work uniform, fastens her hair up, and puts her glasses on.

She's ready to go.

One last quick look in the mirror, and she's ready for work.

She drives to work, taking care to obey the laws and regulations of the road. She enters the asylum, ready to work.

Today she's medication staff, so she makes her way around with the silver cart. One of the wheels is not so good, but she pushes through. Quite literally.

She slides pills under cells and through specific slots so that people can access them. It doesn't take long, and soon enough she's finished. 

Harley is still on shift for five more hours, but most of the people are asleep, so they likely won't be needing therapy. Unless they're on the roster. Then she's allowed to check.

Out of morbid curiosity, she makes her way back to the break-room-slash-office. They keep all the charts and information in there, and it's technically not a break room, but everyone takes their breaks in there anyways.

Harley brushes a lock of hair out of her face– strange, since she almost never has hair out of place– and places the cart to the side where it's usually parked. She makes her way to the clipboards, and looks around the room before carefully flipping to find Joker's.

Bingo.

He hasn't been psyche evaluated tonight, but he hasn't been at risk of suicide, ever. Other people are usually the ones at risk of dying around him. Still, it's technically allowed that he get a check up every few weeks at different times to throw him off.

Harley knows that no one wants to visit him at night.

So she's in the clear for paying him a visit.

She walks slowly and carefully, wary but curiosity piqued by him. He's still awake, sitting in the cell and crafting something with his hands. She's not sure what it is or if she even wants to, but she's also extremely curious.

The blonde stays silent, wanting to say something, but not exactly sure what it is that she could even say. She could say a lot of things, but accurate things? Things that matter?

She blinks.

Harley knows she should be focusing on her job.

Her focus has really gone out the window lately.

“Hello, darling,” Joker looks up from his hand project and meets her blue eyes with his own. The lights are darker at night, and it feels eerier in this area. His crimson eyes seem to glow in the dark, and she's hypnotized.

“Hello, Mistah J,” She replies, blinking owlishly at him. Her accent that she's worked so hard to get rid of comes out again.

“New York?” Joker asks, sounding impressed. “Nice place. I visited there once, and I got to see all the sights. Reminds me of Gotham.”

“There's more beauty there than there is here,” Harley replies absentmindedly, trying to distract herself from the way those eyes pull her in. Like a moth to a light, she's drawn to the pull of that danger.

“Au contraire, Q,” He smiles up at her and produces a beautiful paper machê flower. “I'm standing in front of one of the best sites right now.”

Harley looks at the flower, feeling her heart skip a beat. He– for her– he–

“You really think so?” She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, cheeks pinkening.

“I know so,” He replies, sticking the flower through one of the holes in the asylum wall. The holes are rather small, so she's not really sure how he got it through there.

She takes the flower.

* * *

**A year and a half later.**

“Harley Quinn is the name, smashing people is the game,” She giggles, pulling out the hammer and smacking people with it. She doesn't intend to kill, but if it happens, oops.

“Hey, puddin'! What do you call two guys with guns coming up behind me?” She asks, grinning widely.

“Dead meat!” Joker laughs hysterically, shooting the two with a flower. The flower is a lot like the old clown ones that shoots water. It's a new toy of his that he invented. This one shoots acid instead of water.

“Nice one, Mistah J,” She grins, looking at their handiwork. “We should go before batsy shows up!”

“Too true,” Joker smiles wickedly, his cheeks pulling up in a menacing look. He grabs her wrist and pulls her with him towards the Joker car.

Batman swoops down from the rooftop, and Joker blows him a kiss. The kiss is actually dust that's made to cause irritation in the lungs.

“Too late, bat bitch,” Harley smirks, waving at him as the Joker starts driving haphazardly. They manage to get away, after a chase that has them tearing through main street and dodging mailboxes.

They end up laughing in each other's arms.

If the Joker calls someone later, she pretends not to hear him.

* * *

Batman shows up to their heist.

They're robbing a bank, and the Joker is threatening to kill people in that cute way of his. His green hair is everywhere, and Harley kind of wants to mess it up more. But he does get mad when she does it when she's not supposed to. She keeps her hands to herself.

“Fun's over,” Batman growls, and Joker giggles maniacally.

“Oh? And who's going to stop me?” He asks, aiming his fear gas at Batman. Harley loves it when he does something evil.

Batman dodges the gas with a backwards jump, landing in a squat. “I am.”

Harley keeps the people in the bank tied up and makes sure they're all good. She lets Joker fight Batman. That's his hobby after all. She's okay with that.

Batman manages to get close to Joker, and he gets in the car and drives off, leaving Harley to take the blame. She's the only one in the bank after all.

Before she knows it, she's handcuffed and going to Arkham.

* * *

This year, Yom Kippur hits again.

Harley doesn't even acknowledge it. She doesn't fast, doesn't pray, doesn't care.

She knows she's a bad person.

As she sits in her cell, and thinks about judgement day, she knows her judgement has already been made.

* * *

Harley's parents have passed. She finds out one day from Arkham, on the other side of that glass she used to work from. She's in the Joker's old cell, feeling tortured and broken. He had to come for her soon though. He wouldn't leave her to fend for herself in Arkham.

She feels like it's kind of her fault, not having contact with her parents recently. She feels kind of bad about that. She misses them.

Not as much as she misses him. She's nothing without him, he gave her everything she is today. He's her everything.

Joker gave her her life as it is now. The crime, the ideals, the insanity. She loves him for it. Everything he's ever done for her, cared about her. Helped her.

He's going to break her out of Arkham and save her from these memories and this shame. 

He's going to save her.

A tear falls from her face and onto the cell floor, and she lets herself feel it.

She has faith in him

Her clown-faced hero.

* * *

A month later, she's still in Arkham.

He hasn't come to save her. She's losing hope. The therapists come to talk to her, and she feels like she's being mocked.

They're likely judging her. A former Arkham nurse turned loony bin, she thinks bitterly.

It's not cool. She's rather frustrated with everything, strands of her golden hair lay on the floor from where she pulled them out in frustration.

He'll come, Harley reassures himself. He will be here.

* * *

A prison break is happening.

Harley decides that escaping him and finding him is her best bet. She will find him and ask him why he didn't come for her. Then she'll figure out what to do.

She always has.

* * *

Harley exits Arkham, keeping to the shadows and avoiding Batman. He showed up, because of course he did, without little Robin at his side.

He's protective of Robin, she's noticed. He doesn't take Robin in places that are dangerous. Which is kind of a weird point, seeing as everywhere is dangerous, but she's noticed he doesn't take Robin near Arkham.

Probably the large quantity of crazies that scare him off of that. Interesting.

Must be nice to have people who care about you. As much faith as she has in Joker, she has no idea where he is. Which means she's on her own.

She scours the city, looking for Joker. The familiar shock of bright green hair is nowhere to be found. She checks abandoned warehouses, up and down main street, all the alleyways she knows of, and even near Batman's usual patrol area.

He's gone.

She twists her lips, trying to figure out what to do next.

“Need help?” A familiar voice asks. Harley looks up, and it belongs to none other than Poison Ivy. She's on some vines above Harley.

“Ivy!” Harley jumps, surprised. “I'm in a bit of a… tight situation.”

“Did your boyfriend kick you out?” Ivy asks in a deadpan, using the vines to set herself on the ground.

“No! My puddin' would never do something like that!” The blonde defends. She watches Ivy roll her eyes. Harley huffs, crossing her arms. “We've been separated, and I can't find him. So I have no idea where we're livin' now.”

“Sure, you just can't find him,” Ivy mutters under her breath, and Harley pretends she didn't hear that. “Just live in one of the abandoned warehouses until you "find" him. No one is dumb enough to mess with "Joker's girl".”

“Why do you keep saying certain words in that tone?” Harley tilts her head.

“It's nothing,” Ivy shakes her head. “Good luck finding him.”

“Thanks!” Harley answers, but the redhead is already gone. Well, okay then. The warehouse idea was a good one though.

She ends up walking back to the abandoned warehouse, reflecting on everything that's happened to her in the past couple of months.

The insanity clawing at her for the first months. Coupled with pain, headaches, smiles, Joker. Spending time with him. His smile, the real one, when he thought no one was looking.

The crazy things they've done.

Insanity.

Falling, falling, falling.

Her parents. Gone. There one day, gone the next.

Missing them. Her mom singing her to sleep as a child. Pushing her to go to college. Her dad taking her to Hebrew school. Encouraging her.

These things flash behind her eyelids as she tries to sleep on the cold stone floor. Thoughts and memories of another life, far away from the one she has now. 

She's too far into this one to go back now.

The only way to go is forward.

Hopefully she'll find Joker soon. It's all she wants. He's her everything, her substance. She won't give up until she knows what happened to him. Finds him.

With that thought, she curls into herself, drifting off to sleep. 

She'll find him. She will.

And if she doesn't?

She'll keep looking.


	4. Chapter 4

Harley looks again the next day. And the next. And the next.

Days turn into weeks.

There's no sign of him, not even a hair or a clown bomb. She's ready to give up, to not know where she's going. 

She's lost her purpose.

Sometimes she'll see Ivy, who always launches a comment to her about giving up. Harley always ignores those, telling the redhead she'll find him.

She will.

Or her name isn't Harley Quinn.

Actually, it's not…

That's not the point. She's going to find him. They're going to be happy again. Her pudding and her are destined, there's no way she won't find him.

They're practically linked at the soul.

“He doesn't care about you,” Ivy says bluntly, after finding her one day. 

“He never did, using you for his own goals and morals. His own idea of justice or whatever. He was probably intimidated by you, felt like he had to ruin you. To tear you down.”

“How do you know?” Harley asks, putting a hand on her hip. She assesses the redhead critically, looking for signs of deception.

“I've been a villain for a similar amount of time. Only, I'm not as bat-shit,” Ivy answers, tossing a newspaper at her.

“But he was so romantic! He offered me a flower, and I woke up in his arms where he told me we'd run away together on the rooftops…” The blonde sighs, thinking back to the Joker, with his pretty green hair. Green is really a lovely color.

“Harley,” Ivy sighs. “I haven't known you long, but I care about you. And that's why I have to crush your dreams.”

“Wait– What?” Harley protests, but is ignored.

“He did give you a flower– one that contained chloroform to knock you out. Once you were out, he pressed the detonation button on a switch which blew up Arkham. It set people free at the cost of lives. Which– while normally I wouldn't care– It killed fellow criminals and random nurses indiscriminately!” Ivy rants, her face turning redder and redder.

“So… he killed a few people. We've all killed a few people,” Harley dismisses with a wave of her hand. Ivy shakes her head.

“No, but,” Ivy continues. “He then took you, who was at the moment an innocent nurse. He didn't ask you if you wanted to come with him or anything, dumped you in a pit of toxic chemicals.”

“These chemicals made you paler, look different, oh and they _drove you insane_.”

“I– Well–” Harley thinks for a moment. That is odd. It makes no sense. It almost seems as if… he's been using her since the beginning?

That can't be right though…

They were in love!

...are in love.

Were in love?

“Then,” Ivy explains, “He leaves you to go to Arkham and clean up his messes. He uses you to sort things out, leaves you behind when it's convenient. It's abusive.”

“Oh? Him? Pshhh…” The blonde replies, acting like she's less shaken than she is.

Ivy is right. When was the last time Joker said he loved her? When was the last time he cared? Had he ever cared?

Of course he did.

She just had to have faith.

“I don't believe you,” Harley replies, tucking the newspaper somewhere for use later. Ivy looks taken aback for a minute. “I don't think you're right, and you've honestly made me really fuckin' mad. So, I'm going to leave before I do somethin' I regret. You better stay outta my way, plant bitch.”

Ivy sighs, “Don't say I didn't warn you.”

Harley marches off, pissed as all hell at the woman.

* * *

Harley looks at the article, apparently Joker had been out of Arkham for that entire time. He's been staging heists and doing the usual. Just… without her.

It makes her feel a bit sad. Left out, even. In this seedy part of town, she doesn't feel at all intimidated. Just… empty. Lost.

Maybe Ivy was right.

She can't think like that. She's got to find him. Then she can ask him why he didn't come.

They had something special. Something good. She has to find him. They can redo it. Restart it. Rekindle it.

Re– ...something it.

She knows that this'll be good. It has to be.

* * *

Harley hears something and looks up from her thoughts.

“Mistah J…?” She asks, creeping into an alley that seems to be painted after the clown. She rounds a few corners, reaching the point where she sees him.

The blonde's eyes widen when she sees him. “Is it really you?” She questions, not dating to let herself hope.

“Oh, Harley!” The Joker answers, arms spread wide. “It's nice to see you. I was wondering when you'd be back!”

“Ya were?” Harley feels hope spread in her chest. “How come ya didn't rescue me from Arkham?”

“Oh,” Joker says. “I– was– looking over the base. I made a new one so– we can live together in it.”

Aww! That was so sweet. Harley smiles, feeling safe. Loved.

He smiles at her, his red eyes getting soft. “I'm sorry for hitting you,” He whispers, and Harley feels okay. She feels like his apology was good, necessary.

This doesn't feel real, and her body is buzzing with a high feeling. She feels like she's in a fluffy dreamlike state.

Reality melts away, and she's stuck staring at her own empty hands blurred over with tears. She's not sure what's real and what's not.

Staring at the empty warehouse, where she's sitting on the cold stone floor, she feels dazed. 

Mad.

Insane.

She's losing it more than she already had.

The psychologist in her is flipping out. She feels like she's going to go off the deep end.

A year falls off her face and lands on the ground. Codepency for the Joker. Discontent with life. Finding herself.

They mix together in her like a deadly cocktail, threatening to destroy her. Swirling and biding their time, threatening to burst out of her at any moment. Chipping at her sanity, like one would chip at a wall. Every day it gets harder and harder to fight.

One day, she might just give in.

One day, she might just let herself fall.


End file.
